The Scarf
by Haylee Cohen
Summary: When Roger pushes him away, how will Mark cope? MR relationship, drugs, bad things, language... Hey, it's RENT. And I don't own it.
1. Prologue

It had been a rough two years for me.

In the time following the Christmas that had taken place what seemed like so long ago, I've found myself growing apart from my friends. Collins had been tutoring again; he was never home. Mimi and Roger had been wrapped up in each other ever since they'd found her. Snuggle, cuddle, be lovey-dovey, that was all they ever did. Mimi had moved in after a while, and I've been pushed to the side.

To be blunt, I'm fucking sick of it. 

Maybe I'm just being selfish. After all, Mimi and Roger were in love, weren't they? Roger hadn't been truly happy for a while, and I really should just be happy for him. All the same, however, I find myself wishing Mimi would just disappear. And usually, I'm able to convince himself that I'm was just crowded. It had been just Roger and I for a while, so wasn't it just normal that I would need some time to adjust to having another person in the house?

Usually, that's just what I tell myself. But there are times when I think and I know that's not true. After all, hadn't I lived with Collins, Maureen, Benny, April, and Roger? And besides, Maureen counted as two people. So that was way more than that involved, and I know very well why he was feeling so upset. I don't want Mimi there because I want Roger to myself. Anyone would want a best friend, right? I don't like to think about it, but I know that I like Roger as more than a friend. I hadn't had a girlfriend in so long...

Of course, I never thought I was into guys. I never had been. I'm not gay, right? Right. I'm not Angel or Collins or Maureen or Joanne.

And that was why I'd never admit to myself that I really really like Roger. Loved him, even. I wouldn't admit it to myself, or to Roger. Ever. I don't want to ruin things.

Well, sometimes alcohol can cause one's feelings to come out uninvited.


	2. Intoxication

Mark had been aware of this when he'd first left for the Life. He hadn't been planning on drinking enough that he wouldn't be able to control himself, but that was what had ended up happening. Somehow, he'd found his way back to the loft. Mimi had left and Mark did not care to know where she was, he was focusing on Roger. Roger, who was sitting at home, the Fender guitar that had been the subject of so many memories plopped in his lap. Mark just about landed on top of it when he was coming home, falling next to Roger at the last minute. 

It was obvious he was intoxicated by the way he was unable to stand or keep his balance, and by the way his speech slurred when he spoke. "Roger," He said, taking a deep breath and looking back at his roommate. He couldn't keep his eyes focused on one thing, no, they were dancing all over Roger's body, looking at the man he knew he couldn't have. "Roger, I..." Mark decided that actions spoke louder than words, putting his hands on either side of Roger's face and bringing their lips together. Both of their eyes flickered shut automatically, Roger even kissed back for a few moments, apparently forgetting about Mimi, before pushing Mark off of him.

"Mark, what the fuck are you doing?! Are you fucking drunk or something?! Get the fuck off of me!" Roger used his guitar as a barrier between he and his friend, pushing Mark away and standing. The other man's yearning glance didn't sway him, the way Mark reached for him was useless. Roger didn't know what the hell was going on, he was confused by the way Mark suddenly wanted him. 

"Roger," Mark's hand reached for the man, trying to tug him back down, because his strong feelings were overriding the part of him that was using common sense, "Roger, Iwantyou." It was probably not such a good idea to have gotten as drunk as he had, because now he was telling Roger things that he'd never imagined telling anyone except maybe Angel. Roger wasn't supposed to know, he had Mimi and Mark was just being stupid by thinking he even had a chance. "Iloveyou."

"Mark, what are you fucking talking about?! I'm not gay and neither are you! What about Mimi, Maureen?! You're fucking drunk, Mark, go to bed and stop trying to do this, this isn't what you fucking want!" Roger shook his head, hugging his guitar close to him and finding himself wanting Mimi to come home right there. She wouldn't be afraid to backhand Mark and tell him to go to bed. But the worst part about this, the worst thought in Roger's mind was that he wasn't sure he wanted to do that to Mark.

Sure, he might have been pushing Mark away, telling him he was drunk and to go to bed, but had he not done that before? He had pushed Mimi away when she'd asked him to take her out tonight, told her to come back another day, and then he'd ended up falling in love with her. She was his true love, and... Well, really, Roger was confused at this point. What did he want? Part of him was telling himself that he was doing the right thing, he couldn't give Mark hope like that when he didn't have a chance. And yet, the other part was reminding him of feelings he'd had a long time ago, when Mark had been helping him through withdrawal and through April's death. Mark did have a chance, but Roger refused to believe it. 

"Fine." Mark had trouble getting up, and it was doubtful that he'd remember this in the morning, but he did listen to Roger, finding his way to his bedroom and plopping down on his bed. Of course, he didn't immediately get to sleep, instead leaning against the wall his bed was pushed against and sulking. Mark could act very childish when he found the need, and obviously he had. He was murmuring things to himself, simple one-word phrases like stupid, fuck, and random other things. Unfortunately for Mark, Roger could hear this. And guilt was starting to take over him.

Normally, Roger didn't apologize. Everyone knew he was a stubborn ass and he didn't do apologies. He stuck by what he did, but this time seemed to be an exception. He poked that curly head of his in the doorway, looking at Mark and sighing before stepping inside. "Listen, Mark, I'm sorry. I was being an ass." He seemed to have done a bit of thinking. Thinking had had ended in Mark's favor rather than Mimi's.

After all, Mark had been there for him for a long time. Who had been there when April had killed herself? Who had been there when Roger had found out he had AIDS? Who had been there when Roger had been getting off heroin? Who had been there when he had been trying to decide whether or not to keep pushing Mimi away? It had always been Mark, there had always been Mark. Roger felt a need to help him out with this. He could give him a little bit... After all, Mimi was probably working... She wouldn't be home until later, if even tonight. Tomorrow was more likely.

Mark didn't seem to believe Roger's apology until the guitarist sat down on his bed with him and gently, shyly took his hands, looking up into his eyes. To be honest, it seemed a little bit weird. Roger had been pushing him away a little while before and now he was taking Mark's hands in his own, being lovey like he was with Mimi, and quite frankly, it seemed weird to Mark. "Really, I am sorry."

"Okaaaay." 

"Mimi's not going to be home 'til tomorrow, she's working, so..." Roger looked down to his and Mark's hands, rubbing the top of the other man's with his thumbs, "Is it okay with you if... If I lay down with you in here?"

"Yesss," Mark grinned, that question had perked him up quite a bit from his sulking stage. He didn't even take off those angular black glasses resting on his nose before he pulled Roger closer and laid down with him. It was really unfortunate that this wouldn't be in his memory when morning came, because simply looking at him revealed how happy he was to have Roger there.

The musician grinned at Mark, glad to see him happy the way he was. Everyone knew that Mark was Roger's best friend--they were like salt and pepper, inseparable and perfect as a pair. Besides, Roger felt bad for making him sulk the way he had. He had never meant to hurt him, it was just that he loved Mimi. And the fact that he was straight(at least, he thought he was)was part of it too. He was thinking, at this point, about his and Mark's friendship--It was the only thing in his life that was for sure. He had thought April was--not so. Everyone knew Mimi wasn't exactly so far from death. But losing Mark was laughable.

There was no room for words as they laid there, the air was thick with emotion. So, neither of them said anything as Roger wrapped his arms around Mark and tugged him close, his nose resting gently against the back of his neck as Mark blew out the only source of light in the room. The night seemed to have come to a perfect end.


	3. Morning

The morning was not so perfect, unfortunately.

Mark woke up thinking two things: How nice it was to have Roger's arms around him the way they were, and what the hell had happened last night to bring them to this point. He remembered getting drunk, but telling Roger about his feelings was not in his recollection, and neither was Roger laying down with him like this. That wasn't to say that he didn't like it. So, instead of getting up as soon as he woke to get painkillers, which was his first instinct thanks to that pounding headache, Mark simply stayed there with Roger's arms around him, their bodies close. It felt amazing, and there was no other word for it.

Roger didn't seem to like it as much, and his arms were ripped away from the other man as soon as he woke, sitting up on the bed. The one thought swirling around in his mind was 'what the hell was I thinking?' He knew it was just a one-time thing, it wasn't something that was going to be going on. No, Roger had done this simply to comfort his best friend after being a total ass to him. The second Mark felt Roger pull away from him, he shut his eyes again, knowing that pretending to be asleep was likely a smarter idea than showing Roger that he'd just been laying there, soaking up the warmth of the other man.

Roger believed this, fortunately for Mark. He didn't say a word as he slipped away, getting off the bed and looking at Mark a moment, taking the spectacles that the filmmaker had never removed during the previous night off of him and shaking his head before exiting the room and leaving Mark alone. Alone to cry, alone to think and come to conclusions that probably weren't good for him. That was exactly what he did, too.

It was a long time before Roger saw Mark again, a few hours even passed. What he was doing in there was not clear to Roger, and he didn't want to ask about it. After all, there was a chance that he did remember last night, and waking up alone probably wasn't so good for him. Merry fucking Christmas, Mark. Today was Christmas. It was the same as every other Christmas. Roger and Mimi got presents for each other and got one together for Mark, who got them each a present. Luckily for Roger, Mimi was finally home, after a long night at the club and he didn't have to deal with the redhead by himself. Guilt was starting to come up after an hour, and Roger was relieved when Mark reappeared from his room unharmed.

"Merry Christmas, Mark." Roger attempted to be friendly, though in his stomach he knew that Mark was pissed or upset, neither of which were good. He had no idea how. Mark had been so drunk last night, Roger wasn't sure how he remembered anything, and he'd been asleep when Roger left, so what reason did he have to be angry at him? Roger himself couldn't think of even one.

"Merry Christmas," Mark returned the sentiment, giving Roger a weak smile as he opened the cabinet in search of food. He found none, as usual, "I'm going to go out for a while." It was obvious that he was leaving by the camera bag slung around his shoulder. "If I'm not back by the time you and Mimi want to open presents, yours and hers are in my room." He nodded. "Bye." Mark'd had a lot of trouble trying to find his customary scarf, and so, he'd decided to leave without it. After all, it wasn't that big a deal. Sure, he loved his scarves, but he was fine without them. Besides, if it was really that big a deal, he would have spent more time looking for it. 

"Bye, have fun."

Mark left without another word, pushing through the door. He'd taken most of his crap with him, packed it into his camera bag with his film shit. He couldn't take everything, though, because then Roger and Mimi would suspect something. And Mark didn't want them to worry about him--it wasn't like he wouldn't be coming back ever. And the East Village wasn't that big, he'd see them around.

It was a very long time before that happened. When Mark didn't return by the end of the next day, worries started to form in Roger's mind. When Mark wasn't around by New Year's Eve, Roger didn't know what to do. He was starting to break down and he refused to do anything, including pick up his guitar, then. The reasoning for the strong emotions that were building up wasn't clear. Mimi had no idea how to help him out, because Roger wouldn't even tell her what was wrong. He felt guilty, because he'd driven Mark away, and he didn't realize what he'd had until he was gone.

Roger had always thought that he didn't like Mark the way Mark liked him. He didn't love Mark--but in this new loneliness without him, Roger didn't know what to think. He didn't know what to think at all. Mark was gone and it was all Roger's fault. He hadn't even bothered to ask where he was going. Mimi never said a word about him, but after New Year's, with Collins and Maureen and Joanne, everyone started to realize that something was wrong. Nobody was sure where Mark was, exactly. But by force of Maureen, they were going to start looking for him.

They called Alexi Darling at Buzzline, who said she hadn't seen him and hadn't been able to reach him in a long time. They talked to some of their friends at the Life, who had seen him around but didn't really know where he was. They spoke with some of the inhabitants of the nearby tent city, and that was how they found Mark.


	4. Finale

It was a lady with long, stringy black hair who had seen Mark. Apparently he didn't have a place--he stayed with the homeless people and artists that had once been the subject of his film. Staying in the tent city couldn't be good for his camera, or for him. Roger had no idea how he was faring, he simply knew that he had to stay there with the woman until Mark returned. He needed to take him home and apologize for whatever it was he had done. He almost missed the filmmaker when he first returned. Mark didn't even look like himself.

He had lost what looked like a million pounds, and Roger thought he needed to be taken home, fed some chicken soup and given a shower. He didn't know what it was he'd done, but he felt absolutely horrible and so once he recognized his friend, he pulled him close, hugging Mark to him and shutting his eyes a moment. He could feel how much thinner he'd gotten--another thing that brought guilt to Roger's mind. "Mark, I'm so sorry..." Roger whispered to the other man, pulling away and putting his hands on Mark's shoulders and ignoring, for the moment, the syringe, empty stash, and rubber band he'd just seen Mark tuck into his jacket pocket.

He looked up at Roger, biting his lip gently and sniffling softly. Roger could tell he'd been crying, and he could tell he was holding back tears right then. "Mark..." Roger hugged him again, "Come back to the loft with me. Mimi's at work, and you need something to eat. Look how thin you've gotten." Roger felt like an overprotective mother telling Mark to come home and eat, but that wasn't of concern at the moment, no, his only worry was the thin filmmaker in front of him.

Mark nodded, beginning to walk with Roger. He was acting mute, but the fact that Roger had come looking for him meant a lot. Him. But it was too late, the damage had been done. He said nothing about it. He didn't bring it up, he didn't bring anything up. And he was starting to feel bad, because he'd done something stupid and it had been right before Roger came looking for him. Finally, though, he looked up at the other man. "Why did you come looking for me?" His voice was soft, softer than it usually was.

"I missed you," Roger replied, his voice was not quite so soft, "And I wanted to apologize. I know I was a real asshole to lead you on like that, and I'm so sorry. I don't know what the fuck I was thinking." He shook his head as if to reiterate what he'd just said.

Mark shrugged. "It's okay. Don't worry about things that happened if they're already over," He said softly, apparently learning something from Life Support, "I shouldn't have been such a pussy about it, anyways." Roger shook his head, but didn't speak, simply opening the door to the building for Mark and slipping in after him.

"We missed you around here, man," Roger froze a moment as he remembered that he'd been sleeping in Mark's bed while he was gone. Not because it was more comfortable--it wasn't--but because it reminded him of the man. This was also the reasoning for sleeping with Mark's forgotten scarf, and Roger didn't know what Mark would say about this. He didn't even know what he himself would say about this. He missed Mark, but he loved Mimi. He wished he could have both, but he knew he couldn't. There was a choice to make, and no matter how hard Roger thought about it, he couldn't come to a decision.

Mark grinned softly, sitting down on the familiar couch and curling up. Roger went straight to the kitchen, murmuring a few choice words at the lack of food and eventually picking out some bread. It wasn't much, but it was all they had, and anything was good for Mark--he looked so hungry. Roger brought it to him, sitting down next to his friend and looking at the guitar on the coffee table. It had begun to collect dust--just went to show how worried he'd been.

The pale redhead couldn't seem to keep focused on anything, idly nibbling on his bread and looking around with glazed eyes. He even swayed a little bit but Roger figured it was the result of living in a tent city. After all, Mimi hadn't been in such great shape after Maureen and Joanne found her; Roger didn't imagine Mark would be either. When he almost fell off the couch, Roger knew something was wrong.

"Mark? Are... Are you alright?" He seemed to be a lot more worried about Mark than he'd ever been, close to how he'd worried about Mimi two years ago. Roger felt that it was all he could do to make it up to his roommate after letting him go and starve himself in a tent city.

"I.. Iii..." Mark's voice was slurred just like it had been back when he'd left. He sounded drunk, or... High. Roger didn't know how much he'd shot up, but he knew he had. After all, he had seen Mark tuck all the supplies into his pocket. The musician let out a sigh, looking back at him and feeling his breath hitch softly.

"How much did you shoot up?" He asked quietly, running a hand through his own hair and stopping Mark from falling off the couch once more.

"Toomuch." It was a miracle that Mark was able to reply. The heroin was starting to kick in, and the amount that he'd taken was, really, far too much for him. And the mistake he'd made wasn't really a mistake at all, it had been Mark's intent to overdose. It had been Mark's intent to take his own life. And he hadn't known that Roger cared about him, he hadn't known that he was coming to look for him. But once he'd been found, it had been too late.

Roger shut his eyes a moment. "You didn't, Mark," He said hopelessly, wrapping his arms around Mark. This was the last time he'd be there with him, there was nothing he could do about the choice Mark had made. So why not enjoy it? Why not make Mark happy before he left? He pulled the man close to him, shutting his eyes and holding back the tears that he knew would come eventually.

Mark looked up at Roger, resting his head on the man's shoulder and cuddling closer as he began to tremble. He didn't care about Mimi. He didn't care about anyone else, and he was enjoying the time he had with Roger. He was regretting his actions, but there was nothing he could do. He could feel bad things happening and they weren't good.

Roger knew it was close to the end. He could tell--had he not lost Angel, and almost lost Mimi? He was going to lose Mark but he was going to lose him differently. He was going to make Mark happy and he was going to tell him how he really felt. He was going to tell him his new-found feelings and he was going to do it now. "Mark... Listen..." He cupped his hands on either side of Mark's face, looking back into his hazy eyes and resting his forehead on Mark's. "When I said I wasn't gay and I didn't want what you were trying to give me, I lied." He paused, gulping and biting his lip briefly. "I do love you, Mark, I really do." He shut his eyes, pressing his lips to Mark's and savoring the taste.

Mark was not particularly active about kissing back, but neither of them seemed to care. The paler than usual, trembling man even had a small smile play across his face, and Roger felt good for causing it. He was simply savoring the moment, the last of the time he had with Mark, forgetting about everything else and keeping their kiss going until he felt Mark pull away softly and mouth the perfect reply to his sentiment. "I love you too," Were his last words, before his pale blue eyes slid shut and his head tipped back, body going limp in Roger's arms. 

And just like that, the scarf was all he had left.


End file.
